Far and always away

I am happiest

when I'm not here.

Far away

where fantasy is real.

I am happiest when I'm in the middle,

surrounded by distractions,

by very little.

I'm happiest when I'm away

and then happier still when I'm

away from being

away.

If the earth were one road that never would end,

I'd be on it until the very day

I would

end.

But alas she's round,

one floating ball in space,

and in circles I run,

catching my shadow

is never much

fun.

Titanic

The world was ending.

Ether felt it in her bones.

The moment when the earth rumbled, shattered, into slices of glass.

She watched the sun, that burning ball of flames, gather force, until it blew out like an unwanted kindling candle.

The earth was dying. Shrinking.

All her screams like a symphony of disgust.

In that moment, all sorrow she felt was swallowed into one drink of water.

In that moment, as the air sucked itself dry, the city's buildings crumbling like eggshells, Ether wished she were on a mountain top, wishing to see the destruction, the explosions for her eyeball to take in, that moment of it all crashing, curdling, evaporating.

But there she was, standing still, in the middle of the city's street, observing all around her turning into rubble.

All history graduating to dust.

Dust.

For children.

To play with.

Dust.

For stars

to turn,

into

new ones.

The relief.

Nothing to fight for.

The vanity.

Nothing but mirrors

dissolving in acid and

bursting into flames.

The relief.

That was what Ether was always curios about.

The relief.

But it no longer was needed.

The curiosity died the second she watched her earth-like space ship disappear, within that second she watched everything and everyone disappear.

Until she, herself, was floating,

beyond

the resurrection.

Oh Ether,

she heard her name be called,

such a dream you have.

Until Ether wakes up, and all is back to normal. All is not what it seems. And with selfishness, she wishes it to return, that relief of pain, that relief from others.

But yet again, it clings like sticky marzipan, to her skin,

like a second unwanted oily coat; dried mud she just can't

shake off.

If only now, Ether could find a way

to make

her dreams

come true.